But too many people now climb onto the cross merely to be seen from a greater distance, even if they have to trample somewhat on the one who has been there so long.

Do not be surprised. I do not like writers and I cannot stand their lies. They speak so as not to listen to themselves speak. If they did listen, they would know that they are nothing and then they would no longer be able to speak.

And then came human beings; humans wanted to cling but there was nothing to cling to.

In Oran, as elsewhere, for want of time and thought, people have to love one another without knowing it.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

The only really committed artist is he who, without refusing to take part in the combat, at least refuses to join the regular armies and remains a freelance.

Rebellion cannot exist without a strange form of love.